


darling, keep me from the edge

by portraitofwlw



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief mentions of suicide, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, If these two dont end up together whats the point, Jen has a lot of feelings she isnt talking about, Pining, a little fluff as a treat, mentions of miscarriages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24446590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portraitofwlw/pseuds/portraitofwlw
Summary: There wasn't a rule Jen wouldn't break, her's or somebody else's, for Judy.
Relationships: Judy Hale & Jen Harding, Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 19
Kudos: 149





	darling, keep me from the edge

Jen was in the business of denying things. She knew how to stuff something down so far into yourself that you could hardly recognize its shape if it was presented to you. What she didn't want to feel, she pretended didn't exist. It was a simple solution, maybe not a healthy one, and definitely not one Judy approved of, but it worked. Most of the time.

However, it turns out some feelings are too strong to be suppressed. They come bubbling up, spilling over into dreams and memories and wandering thoughts. 

_Judy_ was too strong to be suppressed. 

Everything Jen felt for her, it all seemed too big to fit inside her, like she could barely contain it beneath her skin, much less force it from her mind. 

The realization came slowly to her, in bits and pieces sprinkled over months. It was a puzzle she didn't even know she was solving until the final piece had clicked into place. To somebody else it might have dropped into their lap right away, but not for her. For her it was like lighting a million little candles until finally you have enough light to see the monster sitting in the middle of the room. One moment she was on solid ground, the next moment the last bit of earth keeping her grounded was caving beneath her and she was in a free fall. She loved Judy, in a completely inappropriate, dangerous, not platonic way. 

How she didn't know sooner was a mystery to her. It'd been staring her in the face all these months, everytime she looked in the mirror. 

It was the all encompassing agony that swallowed her whole when Judy had walked out of the bathroom after their terrible fight, after Jen had told her to disappear off the face of the earth. The self loathing, the anger, not at Judy, but at herself for what she had said, for her guilt, for her inability to stay mad at Judy for longer than a second. Judy had killed her husband, but she didn't fucking care, and that was awful of her, wasn't it? They had caused each other so much pain, but Jen could never fault Judy deep down. She could pretend to blame her and hate her but the fact remained the same: if anything were to happen to Judy, Jen would grieve harder and longer than she had for Ted, or would for anyone else in her life. It was dangerous, what she would do for Judy, and what she would let Judy do to her. 

It was how, when she set fire to everything Judy had in that guest house, every shirt and skirt and painting left in there, she couldn't light the stupid fucking baby blanket. The pale green one with 'Judy Ann' embroidered in light pink thread in the corner. No matter how angry she was, and she was furious beyond belief, her hands wouldn't let her throw it on the pile. She could burn all the things Judy could replace, all the clothes and the art supplies she could buy again, but if Jen burned that blanket, she knew a part of Judy would never forgive her. No matter how much she would say it was okay, that blanket was irreplaceable; and Jen needed the possibility of reconciliation to remain open, even if she couldn't admit it to herself. So she flung it back onto the guest bed and shut the door, leaving it to haunt her for who knows how long.

It was the smile that crept up onto her face as she laid in bed on the night Judy had moved back in. She could feel the lightness that struggled its way up from the ever growing blackness in her gut, despite the fact that two men were dead and there was blood on her hands that would never fully wash away. Her dirty cotton sheets felt like egyptian silk under her legs, and the idea of getting up in the morning finally seemed less like a curse. Judy was home, Judy forgave her even when she didn't deserve it, Judy loved her, still, and that was enough. 

It was the way she felt bile creep up her throat and burn the back of her tongue when Judy said she had been planning to kill herself, that the thing that had saved her was Jen's phone call. She had looked Judy dead in the eyes, her brain trying simultaneously to process what Judy had said and repress the memory of this moment while it was still happening. Not that she would've ever been able to forget the look on Judy's face as she explained herself, the mixture of shame and sadness and regret that had colored Judy's eyes, as if she was apologizing for still living, as if anything else was acceptable to Jen, as if Judy dying wouldn't have killed Jen too; that look was forever seared into her mind. She didn't know what to say, so she held Judy's hand and pulled her into her side, comforting her without the words she so struggled with instead of fumbling like an idiot trying to convey what she felt. She had suspected it, in some dark corner of her mind that knew the truth of what was happening, but that part of her brain was silenced for a reason. Jen clutched her a little tighter, like she might slip away. With Judy pressed against her Jen could rub her back and soothe her sob wracked body while hiding her glossy eyes and quivering lower lip that she had to steady with deep breaths.

It was the way that that same night, after Judy had gone to sleep in Jen's bed, not the guest house, Jen sat in the bathroom and cried burning, painful tears that tasted bitter in her mouth and vomited the wine she'd been drinking all night into the toilet. What she couldn't repress, and certainly couldn't feel, had to be expelled; and that night was full to the brim of too-strong emotions. Her mind was tortured with images of Judy sprawled out in the middle of the road, waiting for someone to come by and hit her, Judy laying in a hospital bed, Judy dying all alone on that road just like Ted did. Her stomach tied itself in knots that sent ripples of pain down her arms and legs and into her chest. She sat on the tiled floor long enough for her legs to get stiff, and long enough that by the time she stumbled into bed, her body could do nothing but fall asleep next to Judy. 

It was the fact that there wasn't a night that Judy wasn't featured in her dreams. There seemed to be an endless supply of situations for Jen's mind to create for the two of them. Sometimes they ended up on the beach in Fiji, at a resort much too expensive for them to afford, other times they were just lounging on the couch, thighs touching in the darkness of night. They were happy there, at peace with each other, not wrapped up in the complicated ropes of shame and guilt and disgust that tangled around their real lives. Jen had been saved and saved Judy from any number of disasters, she'd married her and broken her heart, she'd grown up and grown old with her. On the off chance that the dream didn't focus on her, somehow Judy always popped up in the background, as if she had imprinted herself on every neuron in Jen's brain. 

It was how Jen reached out for Judy when she woke up, a reflex already, after only the occasional night spent in each other's beds, her barely conscious mind seeking Judy's warmth. Jen wanted to stay in those precious seconds, when she was still too hazy to distinguish reality from dreams, forever. In those moments she fully expected to find soft skin and messy hair on the other side of the bed. But she almost never did, unless they were in a hotel, or one of them had had a particularly bad night. No, instead, her fingers danced across rumpled, cold sheets that smelled of Jen, not of Judy, and her heart tightened pitifully. 

It was the fact that Judy made her unreasonably happy, without trying. Just the sight of her was enough to pull a stupid smile onto Jen's face. Seeing her perched at the kitchen island helping Henry with his homework, forever patient and soft spoken, even as he asked her the hundredth question about fractions, made her look like a lovestruck fool; and so did watching her cook eggs and slather jam on a piece of toast in the morning for Jen to grab as she rushed out of the house, just shy of being late. In those moments Jen always tried to focus on remembering every detail so she could recall it later in the safety of solitude, when her red face and uncharacteristically soft smile couldn't be seen. Judy's endless supply of soft florals and sweet smelling perfume, a contrast from Jen's sharpness, her brown hair to Jen's blonde, the way she was a few inches shorter than Jen, enough to have to look up at her a little. Jen wanted to be wrapped up in her all of the time. 

So yes, Jen was in the business of denial, but she wasn't stupid, and she'd have to be rock dumb to not realize the feelings she had for Judy. She knew by now that what she felt for Judy wasn't platonic, that it was beyond something a single word could describe. Her body had been trying to tell her for an eternity that she needed Judy like oxygen, but Jen had realized too late, and now she felt light headed all the time. 

But even things that were supposed to be easy for people felt difficult for her. She couldn't bite her tongue when she was angry and she was never good at keeping her tears at bay; she felt like she was perpetually wiping her nose and crouching in shame to hide her sobs in the middle of a dark theater. Love wasn't easy either, something that humans were supposedly built for. Loving felt heavy for Jen, like something she had to carry, as if she was Atlas, doomed to hold up the sky all by himself. Maybe that's why it was easier that she never fully loved Ted like she was probably supposed to, not enough to write books about or wage war over. And that's probably why it hurt so bad whenever she let Charlie or Henry down, and why letting Judy leave had felt like losing a limb. 

So Judy would never know how Jen felt, meaning Jen would never tell her. For as bold and firey as Jen was, this was one thing she wouldn't do. She wouldn't take the leap. Loving Jen was painful, not soft, and Judy needed soft. Instead, she would stare quietly at Judy as the world crumbled around them, until her bones turned to dust and nobody remembered their names. She would look at her fondly until then.

\--

Jen swung her legs off the bed, resigning herself to beginning the day even before her alarm went off. It was barely six am, but already things felt off, as if the earth had shifted while she slept. But still she threw on a clean t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants, taking an extra second to collect herself and prepare for the day. Both Charlie and Henry were still asleep, so Jen took care not to make much noise as she crept down the stairs. Turning into the kitchen, she expected to see Judy there, starting on breakfast or maybe just sitting at the island, but she was missing. In her place was a small note on the counter. Written in her loopy script, it read: 

_Jen, I was called in early to work today, there is yogurt and fruit in the fridge for Henry if he'd like it for breakfast. I'll be home for dinner - Judy._

Jen subconsciously furrowed her brow and slipped the note into her pocket. Judy almost never left this early, and something about her tone in the note felt off. It stayed on Jen's mind as she made herself a cup of coffee and started making Henry's lunch. The little voice in her head grew louder and louder until it started to scream, and, to quiet it, Jen took out her phone and texted Judy a quick message checking in. It put her mind somewhat at ease, enough so that she was able to concentrate on cutting carrots into little matchsticks to put in Henry's lunchbox (something Judy normally did, because she insisted Henry needed more vegetables in his diet) without cutting her fingers off. 

Judy's absence clung to the back of her mind even as Henry spilled his juice on the table, nearly ruining his homework and staining his shirt, even as Jen mopped up the mess and sent Henry back upstairs to get changed, even then she thought of how Judy would've told her that spilled juice wasn't the end of the world-- even though Jen's brain made her feel like it was, and how she would've smiled and told Henry the new shirt was even better than the old one. It didn't help that Henry wouldn't stop pestering her over Judy leaving early, and that Charlie was making his usual snide remarks about the two of them having broken up again. It was a relief to Jen when they were both off to school, allowing her to have the house to herself. 

She had a house showing at noon, and normally this time would be a blessing, a rare moment to relax and not worry about the million things that needed to be done, but she couldn't stop thinking about fucking Judy and the sinking feeling she had in her gut. Jen knew Judy probably wouldn't tell her if something was going on, because, even though they'd worked on it, she still felt like a burden for Jen, and she insisted on dealing with everything herself as a result, even though Jen _wanted_ to help.

When she checked her phone she saw no response from Judy, another sign that something wasn't right. Judy always replied within thirty minutes, even when she was at work. Jen debated calling her, but decided to text her again instead. Judy’s phone ringing in the middle of an art class, or during a conversation with one of the residents would embarrass her to no end. But the sinking feeling had given way to something akin to a black hole in her gut, and Jen was determined to find out where Judy was. 

She sent out another text, a light hearted one that still conveyed her stress because she rarely joked around, or indulged in the corny humor Judy was privy to. By the time the kitchen was clean and Jen had eaten breakfast herself, it was ten. She had been checking her phone like an instagram addicted thirteen year old, awaiting Judy's reply, but it never came. Jen forced herself to leave the phone downstairs as she showered and got ready for work, knowing that having it there would add an extra fifteen minutes she didn't have to the process. Maybe Judy just needed space or some time for herself, maybe she was wrapped up in work, maybe her phone died. There were a million things Jen told herself to calm her mind, none convincing enough to do so. 

She was only half-present for her showing, her body on autopilot, saying what needed to be said to sell this house that the family clearly already wanted, going over the utilities, explaining the timeline of purchasing, walking them through their third tour of the place, but her mind couldn't be further away. She had kept her ringer on, something she never did during work, in case Judy called or texted, which she didn't. She had progressed from mildly worried to panicky in the space of five hours, because Judy was unpredictable sometimes, and with that came the risk that she could have done any number of things to herself. Things that Jen didn't like thinking about because the reality that Judy sometimes felt strongly enough to hurt herself was unbearable. 

When the family had finally packed up in their car and driven off and Jen had locked up the house again, her temporarily stifled anxiety came rushing back into her veins. She felt a little ridiculous, but she knew something was wrong. In an unusual move, Jen picked up her phone and called Lorna. Her mother in law was quick to answer, but her tone was sickly cheerful to mask annoyance.

"Hello Jen."

Jen willfully ignored Lorna's clear desire to frustrate her.

"Hi Lorna, listen, I was wondering if you wanted to take the boys tonight?"

"Of course" Lorna's tone picked up considerably, "why?" 

"Henry has been dying to see you lately, and it's a Friday so I thought why not." Jen lied, pretty convincingly.

"Well I'll pick them up at school. Can they stay the night?" Lorna bought the lie, possibly because it's something she wanted to hear.

"Yes, I'll pick them up tomorrow afternoon."

Jen hung up the phone, mumbling a quick goodbye, and dialed Judy's number. The sound of her voice made Jen's head shoot up, only for it to drop back down when she realized it was her answering machine. 

"Hey Judy, it's Jen. Are you still at work? Lorna has the boys tonight and I have a nice red I've been hiding from you." Jen laughed to stuff down the waver in her voice. "Anyway uh I just want to know where you are, I'm assuming your phone is just off or something but still I'm-" the beep signifying that her message was exceeding the time limit sounded. Jen opened her car door and threw the phone in the glovebox, overcome with an inexplicable wave of anger. Judy was a grown woman why the fuck was she this worried? _You know why._ Her mind taunted her. 

Jen decided against driving to Judy's work as she had originally planned, still mentally berating herself for her bordering on concerning protectiveness of Judy. _She's your friend and she can handle herself._ She tried to tell herself. _It's Judy._ Her mind replied. But Jen was nothing if not stubborn, even against her own desires, so she pulled into her own driveway and told herself she was just going to wait for Judy to come to her, which lasted about twenty minutes: the time it took her to get changed into something more comfortable, but still moderately presentable since it was barely four pm, make herself a cup of coffee, and pick up a few miscellaneous things laying around. Then she was anxious again. 

For some reason she felt possessed to go into the guest house. Judy still kept most of her stuff out there, even as she spent more and more time in the main house. Maybe it was a desire to be close to Judy in some way, which was unbelievably pathetic, maybe it was something else; but either way Jen found herself walking across the lawn to the door of the separate apartment. She was about to open the sliding door when she saw her. There was Judy, leaning on the floor by her bed. Time screeched to a halt. 

Jen flung open the door, forgetting that Judy would certainly be startled by the sudden entrance. She thought for a moment that Judy might be hurt from her awkward position, half slouched against the end of the bed frame. Pure white terror streaked across Jen's mind; if Judy was in pain and had been here all morning, alone, Jen would never forgive herself for being barely 200 feet away and not noticing, even though that was absurd. Everything moved in slow motion, the colors of the room blurred together, and Jen's feet fell impossibly slow as she walked over to her. But then Judy jolted and lifted her head, and Jen saw that she had been asleep. She let out a sigh of relief.

"Judy? I thought you were at work?"

Judy looked up at her, her eyes rimmed red, looking more helpless and small than she had in quite a while. 

"Judy?" Jen repeated herself, getting on her knees about an arm's distance from her. Something in her head told her not to touch her right now, no matter how strong the urge to wrap her in an embrace was.

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't be sorry, what's going on?" 

Judy didn't reply, pulling her knees closer to her chest. Jen slowly reached out a hand. 

"Can I touch you? Are you hurt?" 

Judy nodded, not specifying at which question. Jen let her hand rest softly on Judy's shoulder. 

"I'm not hurt. I'm fine." Judy’s voice wavered, exposing her in the lie. 

"Judy…"

"It's the anniversary-" Judy choked a little on a sob that bubbled in her chest. 

Jen racked her brain for any possible dates she was forgetting. Not Ted's death, not Steve's, not Judy's mother's, she came up blank. 

"Of what Jude?" The pet name slipped into her vocabulary subconsciously.

"The first one, my first baby." 

Jen's heart dropped to the bottom of her stomach. _Fuck._

Judy had started to cry again, deep, terribly sad sobs that sounded like they physically hurt to get out. Jen pulled her up onto her lap, a step further than their normal cuddling position, and cradled her. It didn't matter that this position made Jen's back hurt like hell, or that the bed jutted out in the middle of her neck, none of it mattered with Judy's tears soaking her shirt. 

Jen racked her brain for things she could do to comfort Judy. She wasn't good at just sitting by and letting things run their course, and she never had been. Her hand was already softly rubbing the middle of Judy's back, and there was almost nothing else she could think of to do. Finally, her mind settled on the night, nearly a year ago, while she and Judy had both been wasted beyond belief, when Judy had demanded she sing for her. Jen had given in because she liked how Judy looked at her mouth when she sang, and the way Judy danced along to the music was mesmerizing. 

Jen began to sing softly, the words dissolving into whispers instead of strong notes half of the time. It was a Disney song, from Cinderella, which she hadn't seen in nearly a decade, but she remembered vaguely when Judy had said she loved it. 

"A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep." She sang, doing her best to recall the melody.

Judy slowly calmed down and began to hum along as Jen finished. 

"She was a girl." Judy offered the information up, unprompted, once she could speak again. "Her name was Ella." 

Jen could feel a tear of her own streak down her cheek. She held Judy tighter. 

"That's a beautiful name." 

Judy looked up at her, her brown eyes a more brilliant amber when she cried. 

"Her nursery was this pretty purple color-- I always repainted the nursery for each baby." 

Jen wanted to take the pain she could so clearly see in Judy's eyes for herself. She didn't know what to say, so she just brushed some hair out of Judy's face and smiled at her softly. She yawned suddenly and her eyelids drooped. 

"Let's get you on the bed." Jen helped Judy up and led her into the bed. She was about to turn to sit in the chair near the wall, but a hand on her elbow stopped her.

"Don't leave, please." 

"I'm not leaving, I was only going to sit over there." Jen nodded at the chair.

"Can you stay in bed with me? I just don't want to be alone anymore."

"Alright." 

Judy pulled back the covers and Jen slipped in next to her. For a moment she didn't know where to go from here. They had always stayed above the covers, as if that kept their relationship from delving into dangerous territory. Now, underneath the soft purple sheets, there was nothing the material of their clothes separating them. 

Judy rolled so she was facing Jen, her face stuck in a limbo between her despair and a smile because Jen was in her bed. She tangled their legs together and moved a bit closer. Jen could see the freckles on the bridge of her nose and the little lines around her mouth, and somehow her hand had ended up on Judy's hip. 

"Do you want to talk about her any more?" Jen asked delicately.

Judy shook her head, a far off look crossing across her eyes. Her hand fell to her stomach, touching the skin underneath her blouse tenderly. Without thinking, Jen let her hand rest over Judy's, not realizing until she had done it what an intimate gesture it was, but she didn't dare pull away. It stayed like that for a few infinite seconds. 

"It's okay." Jen whispered, as if the words were floating off her tongue. 

Then Judy moved closer still, almost tucking her head in the crook of Jen's neck. This was certainly closer than they'd ever been before, and Jen could feel it in her pulse. Her skin was flushing ever so slightly as well, unused to so much physical contact. She wrapped her hands around Judy's back and threaded a few of her fingers into her hair. Judy was crying again, but her tears seemed to be more of relief than sadness. Jen rocked her back and forth, slowly, as if they were putting a baby to sleep. The thought made Jen swell with love and made her feel impossibly sad all at once, because out of everyone in the world Judy was someone who deserved to get anything she fucking wanted. She deserved a million kids and a house by the beach and whatever else because she was a good person, better than anyone Jen had ever met. 

"Jen?" 

Judy untangled herself from Jen a bit, looking her in the eye. Jen missed her warmth already.

"Yeah?" 

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing." 

Judy gave her a look, one that pierced through her and saw into her soul. 

"Say it. Tell me." 

Jen's mind reeled. She felt sick all of the sudden, like she had spontaneously caught the flu. Sweat was beading along her hairline, and her breath was coming in short bursts. 

_This is inappropriate. Judy has been crying all day over her dead child what the fuck are you doing._

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jen's voice sounded unconvincing, even to her ears.

"Jen." Judy said. Her words hardly sounded like the soft, accommodating tone she usually carried. "I need you to tell me." 

_**Lie.** _

Jen rolled herself off the bed, she felt dizzy and disoriented, like she was swimming through time. She needed to shove this feeling down because Judy needed her right now. This wasn't about her. She swallowed harshly and fought back the urge to snap at Judy, like a hurt animal backed into a corner.

"Nothing, it's nothing. I promise." 

She felt Judy's hand come to rest on her back. The other woman was moving to sit next to her, and Jen tried to steele herself. 

"Jen." 

Judy pulled her face to the side so Jen was forced to meet her eyes. They looked at each other for what felt like years.

_Don't do it. You'll ruin this._

Judy's eyes were begging her to speak, and Jen could deny herself, but she couldn't deny Judy. 

"I love you."

Judy didn't have to ask what context she meant. The words carried a weight they never had before. 

For a moment the words hung heavy in the air, like smoke, and Judy looked like she was about to turn away and shatter Jen's heart completely. 

Then she leaned in, and her lips were softly meeting Jen's, barely touching at first. That barely-there feeling exceeded everything Jen had imagined. Color exploded behind her eyelids, and every sense seemed heightened. She put her hands on Judy's cheeks, reveling in the soft, makeup free skin she found there. Jen didn't want to pull away, didn't ever want to stop touching Judy, didn't want to lose the pressure of her against her skin or the taste of her that she was already addicted to. 

But Judy pulled away, Jen trailing after her lips subconsciously, pathetically. She didn't say anything at first, and Jen had the awful realization that she couldn't tell what Judy was thinking, couldn't tell if she loved or hated her now. She tried to lean into Judy again, wanting, selfishly, to get lost in her once more before it all ended, but Judy put a hand on Jen's shoulder. 

"Just give me a second." Judy said, taking Jen's hand in hers.

Jen wanted to drop it, to walk out like the  
cold bitch she desperately tried to portray herself as, but she wasn't strong enough. Instead she let Judy grasp her hand and sit close to her, even though Jen's heart was slowly tearing at the seams. 

"What are you thinking?" She dared to whisper. 

"I'm trying to figure out if this is worth it." 

The words shot ice through Jen's veins. The warmth from kissing Judy had faded away.

"What do you mean?" The words came out choked. 

"What we have is good." Judy offered, her voice losing its confident edge and dissolving into meekness. 

Jen seriously thought she might vomit. 

"I want more." Jen replied, finally being honest.

"What if it ruins us?" 

"We've already done that, we can't ever go back, you know that." Jen held her breath. "Why the fuck would you ask me to say it if you didn't want to hear it?"

"I did want to hear it."

"Then take the leap." _I'll catch you._

The seconds between when Jen finished speaking and when Judy decided what to do were filled with an unspoken monologue, a plea. 

Judy reached forward, pulling Jen into a harsh kiss, one that bruised and enveloped them both, and Jen realized that this was the euphoric feeling writers wrote poems about, this is what it felt like to pour all of that love she couldn't keep under her skin into another person. When they parted to breathe, and to ensure that they didn't go too far all at once, preserving the wanting for a little longer, it felt as though their skin had been sewn together forever, never to truly be alone and untouched again.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing Jen/Judy, so please forgive me if the characterization is off! Comments are always much appreciated❤


End file.
